Chronicles of the Linden Lynxes
by drunkrobot
Summary: All-OC: When the English town of Linden-upon-Toole has their professional tankery club taken away from them, it is up to the people of the town to band together and start from scratch, at the bottom of the ranks of British Tankery, and rise through the competition to retrieve their former glory. Some strong language.
**LINDEN TC TO MOVE TO MIDDLETON SMITH DESPITE FAN OUTRAGE**

 _After years of controversial debate, officials from the Four Nations Tankery Association have confirmed last night that the plan to move Linden TC, club of Linden-on-Toole, to the city of Middleton Smith will go ahead as planned. Three independent commissioners from the Association have ruled that the owners of the club are allowed to move the assets of the club, including team tanks and awards, to the proposed combat ground outside the New City in Windsorshire. The historic club, nicknamed the Linden Lynxes, is one of the oldest in England, founded in 1919 and notable for its rise to the All-Nations League and surprise win in the finals of British Championship 1970. However, since then the club had fallen on tough times, suffering during the Hooliganism of the '80s and bowing out of the All-Nations by the end of that decade..._

"Bloody sickening."

Tilly slammed the newspaper closed, throwing it to the ground in front of her. Jane, sharing the park bench, couldn't help but turn around in case there was any children about to learn a few new words. Aside from a few ducks in the lake, and some teens huddling around the monkey bars near _Good Bess_ , the park was empty. She imagined the pubs in town were going to be packed tonight, and just as quiet.

"An awful, godawful bloody tragedy, this is.", Tilly continued, "80 years of history means nothing to these people, absolutely nothing."

"We were hardly doing all that well to begin with, Tills.", entered Jane, knowing well had it been anybody else saying these words, Tilly would be ready to take a swing, "The tank yard was falling apart, teams were leaving every season, and no money to fix anything up. When did you last see _Tobermory_? He's an empty hulk, gutted just to keep the other Chieftains working."

Tilly turned to face her friend, and Jane could barely meet the look of betrayal in her eyes. "It's just not bloody right, Jane! It was _us_ that got the Lynxes through thick and thin, not some rich bugger who fancied himself owning a tank team! The Lynes don't just belong to Linden, Linden belongs to the Lynxes! Our greatgrannies were who founded that team, and it was our grannies that chased Rommel across the desert when their country needed them most! Our mums gave those toffs running the FNTA a bloody nose when they won the cup! And now it's all getting taken away from us! They're not even going to let us keep the damn trophy!"

Tilly leaned forward and cupped her face, breathless from her tirade. Some small voice of reason telling her that it was useless hot air.

Continuing, now barely a whisper, "I'm sorry, Jane. I shouldn't have gone off like that. But it's not right, and you know it."

Jane put her hand on her friends shoulder.

"Here, I don't have to get back to work for another hour, what say we take a walk around the lake?"

Tilly barely moved, but gave a nod.

"Aye. Not much else to do."

* * *

While Jane Wilson had been able to keep much cooler over the news than Tilly Tritton, the truth was that the move of the club had cut deep for both of them. They had met when their mothers had brought them to a friendly match in 1981. It was all on viewscreen, the sort of distances that the MBTs Tier-1 tankery used weren't all that attainable for the Mark I Eyeball, but Jane's first memory of tankery was Commander Adams' AMX 30, _Monsieur le Empereur_ , knocking out Newcastle United's Merkava in a one-to-one duel. That tank, firing its cannon as it sped over bumps and ditches like a runaway train, put Jane towards a dream she would right up to adulthood. She wanted to be just like Adams, driving and commanding some of the most magnificent machines on the planet.

Their walk around the lake took them back around to where they were, right past _Good Bess_.

Compared to the advanced tools of war that the All-Nations played around with at the Olympus of British Tankery, _Old Bess_ was an antique. Indeed, even the Matilda II Jane and Till rode while on the team at _HMSS Flers–Courcelette Grammar_ was a distant descendant of 'Bessie', very much an Eve of tanks. A Male Mark I, put together by Lindens very own McKenly  & Co. in the Spring of 1916, was the claim Linden had to being the start of it all. Her two 6-Pounders and 3 Hotchkiss guns fell silent long ago, her steel skin coming out with the signs of rust that always had to get cleaned away and painted over every decade or two. Empty and tamed, her last crew buried somewhere in Flanders Fields, she stood vigilant over the park, as if to ensure that it remained forever England.

"Hasn't she seen so many come and go, eh, Jane?" Thankfully, Tilly had calmed from the walk, though the edge in her voice was still there, still hurt. Tilly petted at the red and white stripes on what might be called the starboard of the landship. "At least the town owns her officially. She can't be taken away."

Tilly stopped petting the tank, rather abruptly. She turned, slowly, to meet Janes eye once again, the sullen emptiness having given way to a spark of an idea.

"Jane.", opened Tilly, mouth cracking into a wild grin, "How willing do you think the Local Council is to give away Bessie?"

Jane didn't anticipate the question. She expected to be babysitting a Tilly going through the stages of plotting a Wild Scheme, but not something like this. "Probably not, Jane, if it's the only tank Linden has left. Especially not now, with losing the team."

Tilly took her hand away from _Good Bess_ , and grabbed Jane by the shoulders. "Linden isn't losing its team, don't you worry about that."

Jane and Tilly swapped stares.

"No, nonono", Jane tried to begin walking away. "Mental, a crazy woman..."

"Why not?!", yelled an ecstatic Tilly, "We'd be starting at Tier-9. Tier-9 uses 1916-1920 tanks. And we have a World War I tank at our feet!"

"A _deactivated_ World War I tank", countered Jane, now matching Tilly in loudness. The quiet mumbling among the teens stopped, "Which would be the absolute least of our worries. First off, I am _not_ going into work and telling my boss 'Sorry, Mr. Fletcher, a bank isn't really my calling in life, I've decided to make a career out of going into a field and shooting big bloody chunks of steel at other women.', and I am not going to have you give Mrs Sheny a heart attack by saying the same to her. Secondly, even Tier-9 requires a club to put three tanks onto the field. What, are we going to find two Great War tanks lying in a ditch somewhere? And third, a Mark I alone has a crew of 8. Where are we going to find at least 15-odd women willing to give up their jobs to spend years at the arse-end of English Tankery? If we could even settle a budget, you know we'd need sponsors to get anywhere, and how are we going to win a match with nobody with any experience?"

"You and I have plenty of experience!"

"Playing in school! And with tanks 20 years more developed!"

"OK, OK! But look, we would have the town behind our backs. Surely at least somebody else here has had the same bright idea? We just need to voice it, and we'll have the start of a new club. A _real club_ , owned by its fans, like the old days. C'mon, you know it's what you've always wanted to do."

Jane turned, tired and impatient with Tillys' scheme. "Once, maybe. Look, I'm 26 now, most girls start at 18 and retire by 30. And it's only the successful ones that _retire_ , the rest are set back in life, nothing to do other than, maybe, the army. Where I am right now is fine by me. Now, if your could get six more girls to crew this piece of junk-"

"Actually, we'd like to see if we could try."

The two women turned at the new voice. It was one of the teens, four in total, maybe at the age where Jane would've insisted she was a Young Adult. While Jane and Tilly were light-skinned, Jane blonde and Tilly a redhead, the girl that stepped forward was ebony and with dark hair. Oddly for a girl of her age, a pair of binoculars hung around her neck, along with a khaki jacket.

Jane was dismissive, "Sorry to disappoint, girls, but you can't. You're only teenagers."

A second girl stepped forward, "No we're not, we're Young Adults." This one was notably short and had a bob cut. "Look, I wouldn't know so much about tanks as Joey here, but I'm fair in saying that you'd only really need four more women, saying as the machine guns won't do much good in a Tankery match. Now, I know it'd be a long shot to get a club and all going, but, 'To live defeated is to die daily.', it's worth a go, isn't it?"

Jane bridged her nose, apparently the Creator had deigned to truly test her, "Please girls, I'm sure you have classes to do, and we have to pay our bills. And we'd still only have one half-built tank."

The second girl began the preview of a scowl. "Now hold on there, I'll have you know that-"

"Easy there, Bonnie, I got this." Joey commanded the second girl, raising her hand before Bonnie started off, before turning back to Tilly and Jane. "We've finished our time at Secondary, and we really don't have anything going on. Call it a Gap Year Of Indeterminate Length. And I might be able to help you out with building a team. Dad happens to have a Whippet at home. He brought it over from South Africa for Granny, it was the tank she drove at school, see, and it's about in 90% condition for fighting. The machine guns won't do much good, but it'll help you get into qualifying for matches."

Joey held out her hand to Jane.

"Whadaya say, Commander?"

Jane turned to Tilly, desperate for an excuse. She was greeted by a double thumbs-up.

"Goddammit, Tills, I'm a banker, not a tank commander. Look, I'm not making any longterm promises, but I'll help you lasses get through this crazy stunt you're trying for as long as it doesn't kill my career. I'll get you along for you to see how stupid this is."

The two women shook hands, to the cheers of the other three. Tilly pounced on June, lifting her into the air.

"The Lynxes are staying! Oh I could kiss ya, duck!"

"Oi! Put me down, ya stupid woman!"

" _Oh wise men say, only fools rush in! But I can't help, falling in love with you!_ "

"Put me down, damn it!"

Eventually, Till gave in to demands. By the time she was done, the four girls were agape, speechless. The third girl, to the right of Bonnie, a skinny girl wearing a tweed jacket, who she would find out soon was called Alice White, broke the momentary silence.

"We can only see a short distance ahead, but we can see plenty there that needs to be done."

Mentally agreeing with this conclusion, probably a quote from somewhere, Jane still decided to focus attention on her attacker. "Don't ever do that again! And you are you girls, anyway?"

The fourth one, probably the broadest of the four, spoke up, "1st Linden Penal Battalion."

Five heads turned to meet her.

"...Linden-upon-Toole Trainspotting Club."

* * *

Just wanted to say that Girls und Panzer has been a great series to watch, even though I'm not a habitual viewer of anime. It's given me insight into just how diverse and interesting characters can be while still working together, and I hope I could capture at least a little of it here. (Un)fortunately, some characters are too good to not outright rip off, as might be guessed from the 'trainspotting club'. I hopefully can give them good differentiation and have more space to do so than the show had with Hippo Team. Two of them I think would be impossible to guess whom are based upon, but I think the other two are manageable.

For those not in the know, this story is also heavily inspired by the real events of the London district of Wimbledon (yes, where they have the tennis) and its historic football team, which was moved to the city of Milton Keynes in 2002, despite the protest of its fans. The fans of the old club, Wimbledon F.C., sat down and got together a brand new club, starting right at the bottom of English football, and rapidly rose through the tiers to reach what is known as League Two, which is tier 4 in English football (Manchester United and Chelsea and all the big ones are tier 1, a bunch of guys just getting together in a public pitch may be tier 9). They are also nearly unique at their level of football in that they are fan-owned, the club members actually own the club itself, and not a Russian oligarch or something. All-in-all, it's a very inspiring story that almost seems lifted right out of a good sports movie, but it's real!


End file.
